After the demonmobile roared into the tunnel world, I was left alone with the bodies of the enemy, watching three patrol cars approach. They weaved through scrub brush paths covering the small promontory the battle had taken place on.
I don’t know exactly why I did what I did next. Maybe it was a rejection of Steel’s advice and the enforced trajectory of my life. Maybe I was feeling superior because I had just bested a demi-god and possessed a secret that the approaching men in uniform had no idea existed. I returned to the jetty and waited until the cops had seen me. There were six of them. One told me to freeze and drew his gun.
I laughed a little, remembering the Shadow Creature telling me I had better leave Saint Rose’s Clinic after Betsy had hugged the pandas. Otherwise—too many unimaginable explanations.
Officers, you’re going to be a bit more curious, not take everything for granted. Seeing what you’re about to see is the only story of mine you’ll believe.
Then, I touched my wrist, quickly wriggled my fingers in the power symbol shape, and disappeared before the policemen. One of them had been pointing at the sea monster, another throwing up at the sight of the destroyed bodies in the rocks, but now they all stood wide-eyed as their brains short-circuited—“That guy just vanished.”
I was part of the wizardry now. Maybe that incorporation guided my action to tunnel-jump in front of witnesses. It was a conscious and confident decision, as well as my best escape route. I imagine a touch of Pan’s mischievous spirit had rubbed off on me—leave a little for others to wonder and be awed about. It seemed the great mystery used minor mystery as a magnet.
I sat in the tunnel, watching the investigators cordoning off the area, photographing the worm, theorizing about the unexplained footprints that led into the sea, examining the area where I had disappeared, and carrying away the three bodies.
Carrying away the bodies. What’ll they discover in an autopsy? Hey Doc, are you telling me these bodies aren’t really human, and two of them drowned up on shore while the third was hit by some kind of magic bolt?
When a dozen men dressed in bulky spacemen suits showed up and military frogmen dove from a boat offshore, all overseen by some characters in sunglasses and businessmen’s attire, I followed the tunnel until they were out of sight, then slipped back into the world.
I walked north while the sun set and the moon rose, following beaches and the coastal highway.
What a change had transpired in me. I had felt blessed while doing the healings in L.A., but after the battle on the beach, I stared through a cloud of doom with the thought that not only had I killed a demi-god’s child but also that he would return to his bosses defeated and vengeful.
Finding it hard to think about anything other than magical battles with demons, god tunnels, and what I could do to keep myself safe, I didn’t feel like I was part of the world anymore.
When I came across a beach campfire where a group of heads smoking dope invited me to join them, I smiled in gratitude that there were still happy, goofy people laughing, philosophizing, and worshiping love.
I smoked a joint, accepted their offer of cheese and crackers, and watched some of them frolic naked in the water. Exhausted, I lay quietly listening to their friendly banter. The talk drifted to rumors of a saint healing people on the Strip in L.A., a miracle worker roaming the plains of Kenya living with lions, and a chubby child-guru in India who proclaimed to be the reincarnation of Jesus.
What am I supposed to do? For now, not attract attention. I need a break.
The fire crackled, comforting and warm. Couples curled together in sleeping bags, conversation quietly drifted to stories about hallucinatory experiences, reincarnation, flying saucers, and spiritual revelations. Waves slapped rhythmically, whispering their way back down the sand to the sea. A guitar was strummed gently.
After four days of running and hiding, a soft voice singing about home—“where music plays and love waits”—lulled me to sleep.
A helicopter’s buzzing along the shoreline woke me at dawn. It slowed and hovered while a guy in a business suit and red tie trained his binoculars on our campsite.
“Shit, narcs.”
“Man, they’re checking us out.”
“They can’t tell this is a joint, can they?”
“Stay cool. Just don’t pass it to anyone.”
“What do we do if they land?”
“Scatter the stuff into the sand, deep if you can.”
But the chopper moved on. We watched as it circled an area further out to sea.
“They’re looking for something, but I don’t think they’re trying to bust us.”
“No, probably searching for the local sea monsters,” I said and took a toke of smoke.
The woman next to me at the campfire smiled, and I handed her the joint.
“You were exhausted last night. When I first saw you coming up the beach, I thought you looked like some bedraggled stray dog.”
“I’m feeling a bit more human this morning. Woof.”
“Ha, ha. What are you doing today?”
“Hmm. I gotta get to my art show in San Francisco. Opens soon, or maybe it already opened. I kind of lost track of what day it is.”
“Far out. Where’s your show?”
“Mandrake’s Folly Too.”
“Oh. In Russian Hill. That’s a good gallery. If you wait another day, we’re heading back to Oakland tomorrow. We can squeeze you into the van.”
I better move on. I pissed off some demons and a demi-god. Don’t want them hassling you. Never know when a sand serpent’s going to show up.
“Thanks, but I’ll head up there today. Drop by the show if you get a chance.”
The sun had climbed past noon when the driver of the red Studebaker informed me he had to turn inland towards Fresno, but I could keep following the coastal road north towards Monterey. The guy was a fuzzy-chinned, old gray-head who constantly blinked and closed his eyes when he spoke, making me wonder how he could see the road. Glad to get out of the car, I stuck my thumb out as a roaring parade of about sixty motorcycles approached.
The riders were a hard-looking crew—spiked helmets, iron cross medallions, beat-up leather jackets and vests with the winged skulls and red lettering of the Hell’s Angels arced across their backs. A guy with a bandana around his head scowled and threw a beer bottle in my direction. I sidestepped it and a woman with her arms wrapped around the biker hissed at me, “Pussy.” The machine behind them pulled up next to me. The cyclist had an eye patch and his hair was cut in a Mohawk. His wrist throttled a few quick revs to let his Harley’s engine announce himself.
“Hey, monkey fart, need a ride?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Hop on.” A gold tooth shimmered in a reckless sneer of a smile.
What the hell? Why not? Sheoblask could be lining up another attack, but more likely he’s limping around his den somewhere in the cosmos.
“Ever been on a bike?”
“Yeah, flew one once.”
After two hours of daring gravity, loose gravel, sharp corners overlooking rocky ledges, and the stares of petrified people, twelve of the cycles pulled into the parking lot of a cliffside bar. The rest of the gang continued on, grim-faced and mean-looking. Last second insults were hurled at me by a guy with a tattoo of a rat chewing away the flesh of his neck. His woman squeezed her tit like she was squirting it at me as a weapon.
“Gotta piss and have a beer,” my driver announced.
The ocean shimmered pale blue-white. A gust of wind swooped up the palisades. There was a tint of a burned aroma to the air that assaulted rather than refreshed me. I stepped into the dimly lit bar, paused to feed the cigarette machine a quarter and a dime, then sat down at the bar and lit up. Jiggling the pack to slide out a second cigarette, I offered it to my chauffeur.
“What, Kools? Man, you’re
out of touch. Smell that.” He sniffed exaggeratedly at the room. “That’s the real stench of hell. Get a whiff. Go on, breathe deep.” He smiled slyly, ridiculing me.
I half-laughed and waved the bartender over. “Pabst.” I signaled with a slight gesture to my new companion to have a drink—that I was paying. His tooth gleamed. The biker’s one eye was drilling into me. His smile became savage.
“I said breathe.”
He grasped a one-handed sledge hammer from, seemingly, thin air and slammed the bar with it. Splinters flew, the ashtray flipped over, and I fell backwards from my stool. A foul odor drifted up my nostrils. I sneezed. A thick wad of smoke belched from a dark booth in the corner of the bar, and then a voice followed it.
“Put the hammer down, Lucas. We’re here for a discussion.” Incredibly, I recognized the Brooklyn accent.
I challenged the New Yorker. “You, in the corner, I’m about to blast this one-eyed thug into whatever dimension he climbed out of. So tell me, what do you want?”
The other bikers surrounded me, leveling an assortment of weapons at my head. A pretty young woman was pushed to the floor beside me. I was surprised to see it was the hippie from the beach campfire who had offered me a ride. She blubbered and shrunk herself into a curl, whimpering, “Don’t hurt me.”
“You pop into a tunnel, Deets, and she goes over the cliff. You decide to prove your skills in the arena, and, well, I don’t think you’ll be able to outgun all of our little reception party here.”
“You really want her to witness this? Let her go.”
“She thinks she’s on a really bad acid trip. She’ll be committed as raving mad in the morning. You know how that works, right, Deets? The mindless ones, the travelers who couldn’t commit, all wrapped up nicely and shot up with meds until their memory of events is completely entangled with their confused visions.”
Gotta get her out of here safe.
“This blows me away that you’re involved. No wonder you were always tailing me back east.”
Stogie man, the cabbie from New York, waved me towards the booth with his cigar.
“We want to discuss terms with you.”
There were three other beings seated at the table. Lucas nudged me towards them. When I sat, he slid in next to me and rested his hand on his hammer.
“Who are you?”
Stogie man scratched at his jowls. “Pan deals with my cosmic form, you with my earthly form, and characters like Pigeon, Monkey Man, Amelia, Steel, or Sheoblask with whatever energies suit whichever dimensions we cross paths in.”
“So, who are you?”
“The tunneler.”
I sat back and reflected on his answer. A short, balding, heavy-jowled, cigar-smoking, bad-tempered cabbie had excavated the god tunnels through the all-pervasive Chaos back in the womb of the universe.
“So why do you drive a taxi in New York?”
“I’m a bit of a handyman. I stirred the waters and blasted fire up volcanic shafts to shape Pan’s paradise. I helped Monkey Man and Fish Man configure the workings of their window boxes to match up with the strongest portal energies. Jenny, I taught the skills of jumping. With Steel, I charged the walls of Troy, gave him his bloodlust. With you, I was a cabbie in your neighborhood, scanning the energies rallying to you.”
“And Sheoblask? You sent him to destroy the tunnels connecting to Earth.”
“They were meant to be part of the providence of the gods and their offspring. Pan has corrupted them. Eons ago, we agreed the occasional blessed animal could jump, but Pan overstepped the boundaries. Saints, prophets, messiahs, savages, shamans, and now a growing tide of flower people have learned of the passageways but don’t have the divine energies to use them properly. You’ve heard prayers drifting down the tubes. Do you know what to do with them?”
He took a rapid, demanding puff on his cigar and popped the smoke in my face. “Sheoblask was to cut the Earth source off to stop the blasphemous spread of knowledge that has been proliferating for far too long. What a mess it all is and Pan’s to blame. Imagine yourself in the middle of dealing with the intricacies of developing a new life form, and suddenly a guy in a dusty white robe proclaiming he’s god, or a gibbering idiot with no pants on and wanting to party, wanders into your laboratory or starts poking around your living quarters.” He tapped the cigar ash deliberately. It fell into a neat heap on the table. “Having the knowledge that mystery exists doesn’t make you divine. Pan lowered the standards and pissed off most of the gods, including the Creator, the Manager, and even the Wild Hair. Since I built the tunnels, they asked that I do something about it.”
He looked over at his three companions occupying the booth. They all gazed at me with curious expressions. The god I figured was the Creator scratched the top of his head.
Hmm, same habit as Einstein. And me.
I nodded a greeting, still not sure how to say hello to a god, especially three who supported a demi-god that had been trying to kill me. They all shook their heads in the negative when I offered them a Kool. One of them, who had the most bizarre hairdo I’d ever encountered, blew a smoke ring at me.
I turned my attention back to Stogie. “Okay, understandable. So what happens if you cut Earth off from the tunnels of the gods? I’ve seen dreams and heard people’s thoughts in them. Would Earth lose its communion of spirit? And what about the threat of the Chaos creatures pouring in through the ruined parts?”
He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. We don’t plan on shutting off divine interaction with Earth. The idea has always been to close down the tunnels to Earth as they exist but reroute them with a monitored detour in order to keep a strict control of who passes to and from the planet’s portals. We suspect the devastation of Sheoblask’s first attempt to shut off access was not entirely his fault. You were there. We believe your energy, and possibly other undetermined disturbances, turned a surgical cut into a ragged disaster.”
I took a drag of my cigarette, fought back an urge to confess.
“What we are hoping for is a solution so tunnel life will go on without intrusive mortals and, of course, with minimum threat from the likes of Beezlebub. Jumping would continue, but Pan’s interference will have to cease. Simple, really.”
“But Pan won’t give up his rebellion?”
“Pan and his family have been in control of the passageways for far too long. His disbursement of the food of the gods has reached catastrophic proportions. Because of his irresponsibility, there are planets using the tunnels to transport troops, another has its entire merchandise distribution system relying on them. One of the more foul dimensions uses our tubular highways for garbage disposal. They were not intended for such abuse.”
“Hmm, nothing’s sacred anymore. I thought the tunnels chose who would travel. Like, by invitation only.”
He looked embarrassed. “They still do. Law of averages.”
“Why can’t you agree on some compromise? This war cost more lives the other day.”
“After the latest hostilities, we reached a tentative agreement with Pan.”
“Oh? No one told me.”
“We’re not here to discuss what gods agree between themselves. We’re here to talk about specific terms with you, personally.”
“What’s that mean?”
Just then the Wild Hair nudged Stogie God and spun his fingers in a gesture that I took to be an order for the cabbie to further clarify the situation for me. Stogie grunted.
“The deal with Pan is straightforward. We agree to stop the attempted closures of the Earth’s tunnels and to set up conditions which will steer humans and their mechanized civilization into a phaseout. For that, Pan must stop mailing out his free samples of the food of the gods and allow us to eliminate divine mushroom populations that are not native to their planet, dimension, or epoch. Our agreed-upon hope is that, eventually, mortals will decline to an accep
table percentage of tunnel usage and what remains of the human race will be kept on a more pastoral track. That clear enough?”
What could I say? Stogie God spoke of the deeds and words of gods. None of my business. Human civilization fadeaway? Did I care? Not really, might be a good deal.
“So what do you want of me?”
“You’re the key to a section of the negotiations. Pan wants you to continue your quest to repair the broken tunnel. Our allies are not sure of your personal desired results and therefore would prefer you to leave it be. Our approach would be to monitor Doctor Steel’s temporary portal stopgaps and build an entire new time-jump system. However, we’ll consider Pan’s demand, let the woman go, and be merciful with your fate if you reveal to us questions we have about you.”
This group of gods suspects that my loyalty is not to Pan. And they’ve got me by holding the woman captive. What would change if they knew my secret?
Then, over Stogie God’s shoulder, I saw the Shadow Creature in the next booth. Its aura of nothingness seemed more a hazy, shifting cloud than of the solid void I was used to. It reminded me of an entrance, inviting me into whatever lay beyond.
I realized not one of the gods or demons or whatever else was in the bar could see or sense the ancient presence. It nodded at me, not only in greeting but in a manner that reassured me. Whatever Shadow Creature’s truth was, I trusted it.
Stogie the Tunneler didn’t miss my sudden distraction. I wondered if he saw something unusual in the reflection of my eyes. It was hard to look casual with Shadow Creature so near, and I feared I had given away some vital clue meant to stay clandestine.
“Not only has Pan befouled the passages, but we now have you interacting with them. We’ve all concluded you’re a mutant. But beneficial or dangerous? Sheoblask and Steel say you have referred to an injured god. Who do you mean?”
He stuck his cigar tightly into his mouth and leaned towards me. Funny how at that moment I realized his feet probably didn’t touch the floor. “We’re also curious about how you acquired your tunnel abilities, why you revealed yourself to Pan’s clan, and who blessed you with the key to heal using Holy Golden Light?”
Miracles (The Remarkable Adventures of Deets Parker Book 3) Page 23
